


(If We Don't Fuck This Whole Thing Up) Guaranteed To Blow Your Mind

by prouvairablehulk



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairablehulk/pseuds/prouvairablehulk
Summary: In which Leonard Snart comes to terms with some interesting facts about himself and his relationships with the help of Mick Rory's muscles.





	

**Author's Note:**

> robininthelabyrinth asked:  
> I would be happy with Coldwave versions of any of those, but I'd particularly like to see the “wow i did not know that was A Thing for me until right now and i’m totally fine with that but for the love of god keep doing it”
> 
> with some early-twenties, ‘we’re just figuring out what we want in a relationship’ ColdWave

The small part of Len’s brain that isn’t preoccupied at the moment is considering the poignancy of the fact that the radio’s playing something with a deep bass beat that pounds through your chest even at the low volume it’s at right now. Then again, that pounding could be Len’s heart. Or maybe Mick’s.  
Len gasps in a breath and sinks back into the majority of his brain - the part that’s currently reveling in the feeling of Mick’s body under his on the couch, pressed close. Mick’s currently dragging his lips down Len’s throat, nothing more than soft touches. His hands are huge on Len’s waist, spreading wide across the small of his back. His thighs are strong and broad where Len is straddling them. Len ducks his head and recaptures Mick’s lips, biting at his bottom lip and pulling in sync with a filthy, lazy roll of his hips - two things he knows get Mick going - and revels in the hitch in Mick’s breath, the answering buck of his hips. He releases Mick’s lip with a slight pop, and leans back to enjoy the pretty picture Mick makes. He’s shirtless, and his lips are swollen from all the biting Len has done. 

“There’s really not enough space here.” Len drawls. Well, attempts to drawl. It’s a little more breathless than he’d really like. Mick grins like Len’s given him the world wrapped in a little ribbon bow, and in a show of impressive abdominal strength, sits up without moving his hands from their spot fanning across Len’s spine. Something warm wrenches in Len’s stomach, and he wraps his arms tight around Mick’s neck, hauls him in for another kiss. Mick’s hands sneak a little lower, wrap themselves under Len’s ass, and then Mick stands up. 

Len’s stomach does a backflip and he swears he can feel the extra heat building in his spine. 

“Shit, fuck, fuck.” he gasps, whole body tensing up. 

Mick freezes, moves to drop his hands. On one level, Len’s delighted with the response - Mick knows what Len panicking looks and feels like, and he’s responding by cutting off the action. It shows a certain level of care for Len’s wellbeing that’s the entire reason Len has claimed Mick as his own. The part of Len’s brain that still has higher functions absently notes that it’s that same care that means he’s finding Mick literally manhandling him insanely hot rather than scary. He’s not afraid, because its a fundamental truth that Mick would do anything but hurt him like this. 

So instead of letting Mick put him down, he wraps his legs around Mick’s waist and won’t let go. Mick stands there for a few breaths, hands at his sides while Len clings to him. 

“Are you okay, Lenny? You sounded like-”

“Not that kind of stress, Mick.” Len says, mostly into Mick’s shoulder. 

“Wait, do you-”

“If you even think of putting me down I will stab you with a fork.”

“Are you sure?” 

“In the face, Mick.”

“If it’s bringing back bad memories we can stop.”

“It’s not.”

“Lenny-”

“It’s stupidly fucking hot and I’ve only just figured out I like it, Mick.” Len snaps. 

The look is back, the one that suggests Len is the most precious thing on the planet and Mick can’t believe that he’s real. His hands are back, too, curving strong and sure under Len’s ass, and they’re moving, Mick striding confidently across the floor. Len’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Fuck.” he breathes, with feeling. 

“That can be arranged.” says Mick, and then there’s something solid at Len’s back - it’s the door to the tiny apartment’s bedroom. Mick shifts slightly under Len’s hands, and then one of his strong thighs is propping Len up so his hands can worm their way under Len’s shirt, pull it up and off. Len writhes against Mick, arching his back off the door so he can grind down harder. 

“Holy shit.” says Mick. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding.” 

“Mick Mick Mick Mick.” Len chants, hands scrabbling against the muscles of Mick’s shoulders. Mick’s fingers are pushing at the button of Len’s pants,  
starting to shove fabric down. It’s still only the strength of his body keeping Len’s feet from touching the floor, and Len’s confident he’s never been harder in his life. Mick pins him to the door with one hand in order to keep him up while he gets Len’s pants the rest of the way off and the noise Len makes is unholy, somewhere between a keen and a moan. 

“How did I get this lucky.” Mick whispers, and Len clutches tighter at his shoulders, attacks his lips, bites harder, sucks longer. Mick growls low in his  
throat, and there are hands on Len’s ass again, kneading this time, before Mick literally kicks the door open and pushes them through. Mick only takes a few steps inside before spinning them to the left and shoving Len back against the wall. Len groans, keens, lets his head fall back against the wall. Mick hoists him further up the wall and curves one arm further under Len so he can use the other to yank his own trousers open, shoving them down his thighs. Len takes the opportunity to arch up, to grind hard against Mick’s abs, and Mick swears loudly and buries his face in Len’s neck for a moment. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Lenny.” Mick sighs, his lips close enough to Len’s ear that he can feel the exhalation. 

“You say that like its a bad thing.” Len snarks back, and then rolls his hips down until they’re pressed together, groin to groin. Mick grunts sharply and then bites down hard on Len’s collarbone, his free hand snaking its way between them to wrap around both of them at once. 

Len moans, loud and long. 

Mick pulls back enough to be able to take everything in, and when Len can focus enough on his face to pick up details, all he sees is the tiny strip of color in Mick’s eyes that’s mostly overwhelmed by black, and the filthy, pleased grin on his face. Mick’s hand around him is sure and strong, his strokes just the right kind of rough to push Len even closer to the edge than he already was. 

“It ain’t a bad thing.” Mick says, eyes trained on Len’s face while Len falls apart in his hands. “It ain’t a bad thing, not when I get this while the going’s good. Not when I get to break you apart in all the best ways.” 

Len makes a noise of agreement that absolutely is not a whimper. Mick twists his wrist in just the right way, and alright, that noise was undeniably a whimper, but can you blame him?

“You’re shaking for it, Lenny.” Mick says, and Len digs his nails into Mick’s shoulders and pulls. Mick’s hips buck hard, and Len grins, delighted, and does it again. 

“Pot-” Len starts, and then has to pause and catch his breath after a particularly nice grind, “meet kettle.” 

Mick chokes out a laugh, and then presses back close to Len so he can jerk him off faster. Len’s breath hitches. 

“Come on, Lenny, come for me.” Mick growls, and takes the opportunity to shift his grip enough that Len remembers who’s holding him up, who’s waist his legs have curled around. Len lurches forward and sinks his teeth into Mick’s bottom lip. It’s enough of a shift that Mick has to take a step back to keep them balanced, and then he steps forward again, slams Len up against the wall again, covers Len so completely that Len can’t feel anything else but safe and protected and Mick and that’s it, that’s all she wrote, Len’s coming harder than he remembers ever having done before, near-sobbing into Mick’s mouth. All the tension seeps out of his body, and he settles, limp, into Mick’s grip. Apparently that’s what Mick needed, because Len’s mildly aware of the spray of warmth on his stomach that confirms he’s come too. 

They stay there, breathing together, breathing each other’s air, for just a moment. Then Mick cradles Len to his chest and carefully carries him through to the bathroom to clean up. 

“So that’s A Thing for you, huh?” he asks, as they walk. There’s a hint of smugness in his voice. Rather than respond, Len makes a sleepy grumpy noise and bites Mick’s shoulder. 

Mick laughs, and Len can feel it vibrate through his chest.


End file.
